Second Sunday of Lent

 Lectionary: 27

For many... conduct themselves as enemies of the cross of Christ. Their end is destruction. Their God is their stomach; their glory is in their shame. Their minds are occupied with earthly things.
But our citizenship is in heaven...

When I was appointed pastor of an African-American church in Louisiana, I found the crucifix had been moved from the sanctuary to the entrance lobby. It did nothing for the lobby, and was sorely missed in the sanctuary. In its place was a cross with a representation of Christ, with outstretched arms, vested like a priest. 

I knew little of the African-American experience, and less of the history of African-American Catholics, but I knew the crucifix belonged in the sanctuary. I had seen, in a manner of speaking, the vision of God sitting on his throne in the Holy of Holies, as Isaiah described his vision. I knew that Jesus without the cross is nobody in particular. The cross is his throne; his crown is necessarily of thorns; his vestments are his human nakedness; his glory and honor are the catcalls, shame, and mockery he heard on Calvary.

One of my first and most welcome acts as the new pastor was to move the crucifix back to the Sanctuary, directly over the altar. The two are inseparable. 

In today's gospel we hear of the Lord's transfiguration and are granted a snatch of his conversation with Moses and Elijah. They "spoke of his exodus that he was going to accomplish in Jerusalem." 

The disciples could no more imagine the future than you or I can, but they remembered that word, exodus. It would explain what they saw and felt on Good Friday, Easter Sunday, and -- eventually -- Pentecost. It would also explain their following of the Lord out of Egypt, where as slaves they were told what they wanted, how they should have it, and why they could never obtain it. 

They would also encounter the obtuseness of the world that removes crucifixes from churches and supposes we don't need them anymore. God's suffering, they would say, ended on Calvary; and he no longer knows our anguish or misery. He could not have said to Saint Paul, "Why do you persecute me?"

As Catholics we contemplate the cross of Christ throughout the year. We recite the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary on Friday, and walk the stations of the cross on many occasions. We never celebrate the Mass without reminders of his last meal, "on the night before he died." During Lent our fast and abstinence, our prayers, and works of charity honor the sacrifice of the cross. 

The Spirit beckons and we eagerly enter the deep, terrifying darkness which envelopes Abraham and every friend of God. 

We leave a world where we are told what we want and how we can purchase it for a price. We are repeatedly reminded we are consumers, and our purpose is consumption. Never mind the waste of resources or the cost to our physical, emotional, and spiritual well being. We have heard that message so often we notice neither the insult to our dignity nor the contempt of the sellers.  

In fasting, abstinence, prayer, and works of charity we discover our freedom. Our confession of sins is especially liberating as the Sacrament reveals more clearly who we are in God's sight. 

There is in that graced moment the delight of Jesus's transfiguration and an incomparable reassurance, "You are my beloved. In you I am well pleased."